


It's Not Him! It's You!

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: F/M, M/M, The Fall - Freeform, flatmates, the wrong man in bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:43:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15678249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: After Mary and John marry.





	It's Not Him! It's You!

Maybe I should step up, step in, step toward! 

* * *

Stop this wedding!

* * *

Standing as John's best man is stretching every fiber of my body. The agony of having to play the waltz I wrote for them, to mingle amongst the guests as if nothing has gone awry!

* * *

"Sherlock," startled at John's voice behind me, looking so suave, but boyish in his wedding clothes.  
"What John?" glaring at my glass full of whiskey. Third or fourth?  
"You're drinking too much. Stop now before you make an ass of yourself."  
"Me? An ass? Not possible. I've done that already," knowing that he's right. I've overdone it.  
" Go take a breather and get over it. And stop worrying! We're still friends, still going to go out on cases," patting me on the arm, like a bloody uncle.

* * *

"Hey, what are you two doing?" Mary steps between us, taking a possessive grip on John's arm. 

* * *

I want to vomit all over her white, untainted gown. Black would suit her more effectively. A spider.

* * *

"Go dance with Molly, Sherlock. She's been too scared to ask you," dipping his head in Molly's direction, John covering Mary's hand with his. Skewing his head to glance up at me, he's about to say more, I step away, refusing to look at John at all.

* * *

I pick up my coat and walk outside leaving the wedding of Mary and John before it's saccharine sentimentality clings to me.

* * *

Lonely! Never felt alone in my life. Never needed friends. And now, now that John has Mary, I am empty.

 _Greg, left wedding. Help me. I want to--_  
Find a dealer. But I opt to wait for Greg to rescue me. Again.

_Don't do anything rash. Tell me where you are and I'll come for you_

* * *

I know he was enjoying himself at the reception, but he was the only one I could call on.

* * *

_I'm on the avenue sitting on a bench, across from the wedding venue._

* * *

Within minutes he's in my view, out of breath," let me make sure you are okay."

Kneeling down, he checks my eyes, and feels for my pulse, "stop, just drunk right now, no drugs," pulling away.  
"Come on my friend. It's been a hard night. You did a damn fine job with the wedding. Beautiful" standing and holding out a hand.  
"Damn fine, damn fine," my view unclear, words distorted.

"Let me take you home. My car is parked over in the reception building lot. I'll get it if you wait here."

"Damn fine wedding, wasn't it?" hearing myself repeat.

* * *

" Hey, get in the car, " he yells out the window.  
The car is moving, and I lean my head on the backrest.  
"I'll see you upstairs, and into bed, then go."  
"Don't want to go to the flat. Too many --."  
We've stopped at a red light, and Greg twists his head to peer at me.  
"Take you to my place if that suits you."

The morning light seeps into the bedroom and to my head, giving me a stunning headache, and my stomach keeps whirling.

I try to open my eyes, failing, close them, a groan escaping my mouth.  
" Take it easy. I have to leave. Stay as long as you need, " it's Greg's voice, and I'm in his flat.  
In the spare bedroom.

The door closing echoes in my head causing another groan.

* * *

I spend the day at Greg's. His fridge has fruit, ugh, cooked meat of some kind, ugh, and cheeses, ugh.  
I grab an apple out of the bin and sit in front of the telly either watching junk or dozing.

* * *

"Still here, I see. Feeling any better?" Greg asks, eyebrows raised, his coat off and loosening his tie.  
"Too lonely at the flat, but I'll leave if you want," grabbing my coat and beginning to slide into the sleeves.  
"Don't be an arse. Stay. Did you eat anything?" opening the fridge, "no guess not."  
"How about we go out to dinner? My treat considering you took me in last night."  
Shutting the door, "Okay, I'll go for that."

* * *

At first, a conversation is hard to come by, awkwardness has set in.  
Greg breaks the silence, once our meal is over and the waiter has cleared the table. We have our wine in front of us, and Greg has loosened up.

"I'm going to ask a hard question. You don't have to answer, you can get up and leave, but here goes. Why did you pretend your death? Why didn't you let John, of all people, know you were still alive?"  
I was not expecting this inquiry from Greg. It's thrown me off balance.  
Taking a drink of wine, " Let me give an honest answer. I can now," leaning back in the chair, eyeing the detective.

"Moriarty threatened three people I considered, and he knew, were my friends. Mrs. Hudson, John and you," watching with some measure of delight as Greg's face lights up.  
"Yes, you. Mycroft and I had tried, and without success, to corner the assassins. The only way out was, to Moriarty's thinking, jumping from the roof and killing myself."  
"How did you manage to stay alive? John said felt your pulse right after you fell and it was gone."

"I can't divulge the intricacies of the fall, but it worked. It gave Mycroft and me the chance to work on Moriarty's cartel. To bring it down."  
"And why not tell John? He was unbearable after."  
"We needed a realistic reaction from him. If John knew I was alive, his mourning act would have been half-hearted. I could do nothing about it."  
"And now he's married, what are you going to do?" crossing his legs.  
"I don't know. Baker Street will not be the same, but I'll have to find another flatmate," sighing heavily.  
Playing with the button on his jacket, Greg avoids my gaze, "Tell you what. I'll make you a deal. Stay with me for a month. Let's see how we do as flatmates and then, if it's good for both of us, move in with me," the odds of him bringing this up was very good, seventy percent.  
"Do you think that's wise? Rumors and all."  
Sitting up straight in his chair, "I don't give a fuck what people will say! What do you say?" challenging me on a point I had already considered and planned on.

* * *

"You've got a flatmate," reaching my hand over for Greg to shake.  
"One thing I won't tolerate--," letting my hand go.  
"I know, I know. No cocaine."  
"No, no drugs at all. And if you must smoke then do it outside."  
"Not even a tiny pill for a headache?" smirking slightly.  
"All joking aside. Not a wee bit. Got it?"  
I nod my agreement.

* * *

"Holy shit! You've been here three days, and I feel like you've taken over the place! Look at it!" taking off his raincoat, situating it on the rack.  
I shrug my shoulders as I peruse the parlor.  
"Looks somewhat messy. But not bad at all."  
"Not bad? Not bad?" picking up some of the papers from the floor, the chair and depositing them next to me on the sofa.

Greg comes close to me, places a hand on my shoulder. I jump. jittery!  
He removes his hand as quickly as he put it on. As if he burnt himself.

* * *

Did you eat today?"  
"I had tea and one of those spinach crepes? Did you make them?"  
"Yes, learned some cooking when wifey left. I enjoy it very much and want to learn more."

Watching Greg closely, "You're pondering the question as to whether I would want John on any of our crime scenes, aren't you?"  
"Exactly that. Why do you always know what people are going to say before they even open their mouths?"  
"It's easy to observe and deduce. Most people are too stupid to see it."

Ignoring that remark which would only lead to him stomping out of the room, I come back with," wait, let me think on this. There is an exception, am I right?"  
"His wife. I don't want her along on any of our cases."  
"Sherlock Holmes, now I know somethings wrong with you? Why makes you think--? Is it jealousy?"  
Sputtering out my words, sneering, "Jealousy? I have no reason--."  
"Aw get over it, Sherlock. Just because he found another partner doesn't mean he'll forget his best friend."  
Humphing I slouch down, closing my dressing gown over me like a cloak.  
"Forget me he will. He already has."

* * *

The couple is home from their honeymoon, and Sherlock is right on the money.

* * *

John neither texts or calls. Doesn't even text me asking about any criminal cases.

* * *

Meantime Sherlock is a complete twat. He hardly moves from the sofa, barely eats or sleeps.

* * *

It's now close to three months after John moved in with Mary, and three weeks after the wedding.  
Nothing, even a murder case will arouse the curly-haired detective out of this stupor.  
I get grunts and things thrown at me. I'm fed up.

* * *

This morning I'm determined. Sherlock will do something or get kicked out of my flat, and it's five am, and I'm dressed, ready to take action.  
Not sure what that will be. It will come as it will.  
Into the parlor, I am kicking at the sofa, startling the man, "Up and at 'em. Either you get up, shower and shave or so help me, sweet Jesus, I'll throw a pot of water at you."  
"And ruin your fabulously expensive antique sofa?"  
"Don't get your cracking ass smart mouth going. You know damn well that piece of shit is not worth anything. Now get up," lifting one arm of his, pulling up, he loses balance and has to sit.  
Narrowing his eyes and giving out an exasperated sneer he pushes me away and totters off to the bathroom.  
"And don't just throw your clothes anyplace. In the laundry bin," hollering out while I head to the kitchen for breakfast.

* * *

Wrapped in a clean dressing gown, sweatpants on he looks like a child with his long curly hair all tousled, the gauntness of his face, and the pout on his lips.  
Ignoring what I take is a tantrum, I push a plate towards him when he sits at the table.  
"Eat, and that's an order," my back to him washing the pots.  
"You're not my keeper--nor my--,"  
"Flatmate, you were about to say?" looking over my shoulder," no, not your flatmate. So far you've been living here as a freebie. Now I expect you to pull your weight, however little that might be."  
Turning to him, picking up a tea towel and wiping my hands, "You will keep yourself and this place clean. You will eat. And when I need you on a case, you will assist me."  
"And if I will not comply?" lifting the fork with a large piece of sausage and biting into it.  
"Don't be a bigger asshole than you already are!"  
I can't keep up this wise-cracking commando tone over him.  
Instead, I sit down, briefly touch his hand, "Okay, Sherlock, your world has turned upside down. But now it's time to take that wonderful brain and put it back online. Let's work together. How's that sound?"

Not a movement, not a sound. It seems like forever before he blinks many times, observes me with those greyish-green eyes, bobs his head and says, "Yes."

* * *

Both Sherlock and I are at the morgue in Barts Hospital with Molly, looking at the corpse from the latest killing, the door swings open and in walks John.  
"Oh hello!" he says, Sherlock stiffening but still leaning over the corpse.  
"Got a case, murder is it?" and steps up to the feet, his head trying to look over Sherlocks back.  
Without regarding the doctor by facing him," you're in the way. Step back," almost backing into John, him having to step aside.  
"I think you should go," nodding at the door to John. "Sherlock, can I assist in any way?"  
John sets his hand lightly on Sherlock's back, and the man stops his evaluation to stand upright, and without facing John, "You heard Greg. Leave."  
John spins on his heels, military style and retreats through the door.  
"That wasn't very nice Sherlock," Molly says, standing on the other side of the table leaning over the corpse.  
"Molly, coffee!" he barks out as an order.  
She withdraws, mouth tight.  
"Sherlock, that was-," as he rounds on me.  
"And you're going to say what?"  
I reach out without thinking, my hand stroking his arm.  
Sherlock twists his head around to see my fingers running up and down the sleeve of his silk shirt.  
As I go to take my hand off his reaction is faster, laying his hand over mine. Taking my fingers, capturing them in his, entwining them.  
My breath runs short, his eyes fastening, boring into me.

* * *

Sherlock shucks off my hand, as the door bangs open, and brushing Molly aside, he briskly walks out, even before the door has fully closed.  
She looks confused, stares with those doe-eyes, two coffees in hand.  
I take one carefully out of her hand and exit.

* * *

Outside the cold wind hits me. Is it that cold or am I shivering with some unknown sickness?

* * *

In the police station, I brush off all attempts by the officers to communicate with me and walk into my office and take a seat.

Detective Sally Donovan opens the door in her usual brusque way, no knocking.  
"Okay, standard question. Are you feeling sick? You certainly look it!"  
"Sally, I'm not sure," the empty paper cup still in my hand.  
I am dazed.

* * *

Folding her arms, she assumes a stance, "Okay you, shoo off to home. You need a rest."  
"Home? No, can't."  
"That fuc--Sherlock get to you?"  
Digging into her trouser pockets, she pulls out a set of keys, throws them on the desk," Here go to my place. Get some sleep, and I'll get home early and cook you a large dinner."  
What a good idea! Don't have to face him right away.  
Accepting the keys, I drive to her little flat and even before my shoes are toed off my phone pings.

_Sallys? Really?_

The blush is rising in my cheeks. How does that fucker do it? How does he--? And why did he--? I bet he knows I'm running. Damn straight I am!

 _Come home. We have a case to discuss. Could be enlightening_  
Shit, Sherlock!  
I'm a grown man, a grown older man, a grown wiser man. Shit!  
Putting my shoes back on I text Sally.

_Going home. Thanks anyway. Keys in mailbox._

* * *

Pacing back and forth on the sidewalk at Baker Street, I look up to see the curtain slowly work it's way back in place. The man has been watching me.  
What is the saying that Sherlock quotes when someone is pacing out front of the flat?  
'Oscillation on the pavement always means there's a love affair.'

* * *

Reluctantly I climb the stairs, open the door, hang my coat up and refuse to glance at or acknowledge the sharp cut cheekbones as well as sharp cut eyes.

"Upon delving into this case," lifting the manila folder for me to take, " I find my analysis correct. Would you care to double check me?"  
"Since when are you asking me to double check any of your work?"  
He stands as I sit and plunks it into my lap.  
I open it up to see at least two dozen photos of myself and Sherlock.  
Together at crime scenes, at pubs and in this flat.  
"What the fucking hell, Sherlock?"  
Sifting through them, I'm only aware of his nearness as he strides up and down and around, fingers locked together at his chin.  
"Wait, wait. Mycroft, your damn brother! The son of a bitch! He's been monitoring us--you. Why?"  
"Look closely at those photographs. What can you deduce from them?"  
Flouncing to the sofa he lies there; face turned away from me.  
Becoming the detective, I spread them out on the floor.  
And deliberately go over them, one at a time, and slowly, everything fits in place.  
"Shit in hell! In most of these you're looking at me like a lovesick pup," my cheeks flame up.  
"Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, I must be enamored of you, the muffled sound of his voice from the cushions."  
My head up, my hands waving excitedly in the air," No, no no! Let's not jump to conclusions."  
" Same conclusion you arrived at just now."  
Up off the sofa, he steps on the photos and deposits himself in my lap, taking my head in his large hands and plants a kiss on my lips. Not a meek peck but a full on tongue pushing into my mouth kiss.  
Heaving him off, he falls to the floor, and attempts to crawl back up.  
"Now wait a minute. What are you doing?"  
"Seducing you."  
My arms thrusting him away while he continues to shift his lanky body onto my lap in some fashion.  
"Sherlock Holmes, go take a seat and let's talk about this before--"  
"You already have an erection, Greg."  
"Shut the fuck up and go sit the furthest away from me and don't look at me!"  
Moving my trousers to a more comfortable state, I take a breath.

* * *

Into the kitchen, sliding a chair over to the doorway between kitchen and parlor, he sits, facing my back.  
"Would you prefer to wait until it's dark, many people cannot perform--."  
"What the fuck are you--, who the fuck are you?" so agitated I spit with my words, "give me a chance to think about this," my fingers running through my hair.  
Okay, dumbass. It looks like you have a situation. All the pictures show his obvious admiration for you.  
His half-lidded eyes, gazing out of the corner, sneaking a peek at my ass while I'm bent over a corpse. Standing behind John, across from me, his eyes on my face, intent. And most of them are similar to those. But none of them, well, only a few show me overtly giving him the once-over.  
"Deductions, Detective Inspector?"  
"Damn you, you effing--. Oh, what the hell! Don't know what Mycroft was trying to do here, but when I see him, I'm going to shove that umbrella--."  
Sighing deeply, "looks like we have a thing for each other, don't we?"  
" It's more on my part than yours, Detective Inspector."  
Waving my arm around to indicate him coming back into the room, " sit across from me."

" Scientifically we should--"  
Interrupting him, "Stop with the science bullshit. This is all about emotion, Sherlock."  
"Why? Prostitutes have sex without emotion."  
" Is that what you want? That kiss certainly was loaded with emotion."  
Sherlock's neck turns pink and winds up onto his cheeks.

* * *

"I tell you what you wanker. Let's get dressed up, you know suit and tie, and go out for dinner and drink. And see what it leads to after."  
"Why can't we go into the bedroom now? Why the 'date'? We know what will ensue."  
"Sherlock, I am not bedding you like a prostitute. We both have some kind of feelings towards each other. Let's let it play out. Okay?"  
" Landmark Hotel, steak, champagne. Six then? I'll pick you up in the car."  
"Oh no, all but the last is good. You are not having Mycroft's driver take us. We will take a taxi."  
" I have my good suits still at Baker Street," standing, but still hesitant about leaving.  
"Change there. I'll pick you up at six," and I, without wavering, step up to him and leave a brief kiss on his lips.  
He takes off down the steps while inside I'm quivering with--lust?

* * *

Is having sex with Sherlock such a bad idea? I do find his body exceptional. That damn fine, tight ass!

* * *

Pinstripe grey suit, purple shirt open, and no tie! That's the lusciousness that I see walking towards the taxi.

* * *

" You're looking splendid," sliding into the interior, adjusting himself round to wander his eyes up and down my body.  
I harden immediately and Sherlock, ever the observant one, smirks.  
My suit, unlike Sherlocks' is not handmade. Off the racks of a department store.

* * *

Getting a table is quick and easy. Using the Holmes name opens an empty table in the corner of the restaurant.  
I'm uneasy being here. Not used to the gloved waiters and the impeccable service.  
Sherlock orders the steak for both of us and a Moët Chandon champagne.

* * *

"Don't stuff yourself, Greg," with a leer.  
My turn to blush.

* * *

Outside, under the canopy, it's gone from rainy to clear sky.

"Care to walk and enjoy this night?" staring up at whatever sky is visible in London, hoping to stall some more.

"No," and steps into the waiting taxi, "Home, Greg."

* * *

I focus on the outside world, feeling very awkward. Eyes staring out the window but not seeing anything.

* * *

There was no flirtation at dinner. Mostly it was discussions centered around our work.

* * *

But on the other hand, he and John had been lovers. He should know the mechanics of two men having sex.  
At least that's what everyone presumed, including myself.

* * *

I have the key out and unlock the door, push it open and motion for Sherlock to enter.  
He methodically removes his shoes and socks, his suit jacket, and his shirt.  
What do I do? Follow him?  
My trousers are tight even though I keep my eyes off his lower area.  
My jacket is off, and Sherlock twists about, sees me still dressed, puzzled, he advances to me.

"Let me," his long, nimble fingers begin to unravel me, my panting growing heavier.

* * *

Hours later, it's early morning, I wake to find the man not next to me in bed.  
Damn, Greg, what did we do?  
I walk to the bathroom, wash my chest, and find Sherlock sitting in the parlor, laptop open.

" If you want tea, I made a fresh pot," not taking his eyes off the screen.

A cup in hand I sit in a chair, waiting.  
"Ahem, Sherlock, I think--," trying to get his attention.  
" I'm moving back to Baker Street tomorrow," his voice deep.  
"We have to discuss this--," and he looks up at me.  
"Nothing to discuss. We had sex, and it was a good experiment," his head back into the computer.  
Gripping the cup so hard I think it will smash to pieces, "Wait a minute! An experiment? What in Jesus' name are you talking about?"  
Sighing deeply," That's all it was," and ignores me again.  
'Calm down Greg, take it easy and think this through.' 

"I get it. You found me lacking compared to John," beginning to stand when Sherlock barks out.  
"Sit down! If you are inferring by that remark that John and I were--, you're wrong!"  
"But I always, we all thought--."  
" The execution of having sex never crossed our minds. We were friends," and puts his head down.  
"Let me get this straight. You and John never--," waving my arm around," then why so unhappy when he married?"

Sherlock pushes the laptop from him and gazes at me.

"Have you seen John since that night? Have I? Has he been on a case with us?"  
"Oh, I see. I'm sorry. So you two never,--"  
Sherlock goes back to ignoring me, head down, typing furiously.

"Then tell me why you're moving out and more important why is it so uncomfortable between us? Are you ashamed--,"  
His head pops up," No, don't create a bigger problem. We need time to respond to our emotions properly."

My turn to sigh, "Yes you're right I guess," finishing up my tea, "but what was the experiment about and how did I fare-- lousy I expect."

Throwing his hands in the air, and getting off the sofa, "Greg, we both required that stimulation, that intimacy to continue this involvement, if it is going to commence or not. Right now we need some distance."  
" I've never had this sort of thing happen before. If we liked each other, we went on, if not we split."  
" Association with me other than friends requires deeper reflection. At least for me."  
"I can always tell when you're upset. You spout words longer than three syllables."  
We both laugh at that, and I dress for work.

* * *

The man is right. We need time apart. Time to sort out feelings.  
I find myself scribbling his name on scraps of paper, eyes unfocused, making hearts around the pen marks.  
Yes, I do like Sherlock Holmes. More than merely like, you dope!  
Maybe that's why he's distanced himself from me.  
There's evidence he likes me from those pictures, but not much the other way around.

* * *

I start a text-and erase it. Another- and many more. If he has changed his mind--.  
Coward! That's what you are! Afraid of a romance with another man? Afraid of what people might think of you?

* * *

Once in university I had a brief encounter with a young man.  
He was my total opposite. Partier, couldn't care about grades, wealthy family.  
I knew he was playing with me from the moment he walked up and said, " Saw you in class and thought you could help me with my grades. Come to my room tonight," handing me a slip of paper with the hall and room number.  
What made me go? I was tired of my friends and thought to see how the other half lived.  
Before the night was out, I was in his naked in his arms. He was overwhelming. We spent as much time together with him leading the way. I had no experience with men and how it worked, and he did.  
But, within four months he no longer invited me to his room, and when I did get him alone, he told me he had someone else.

* * *

Sargeant Donovan marches into my office, a determined look on her face, hands on hips," I don't know where you've been the past weeks, but it's time to get your head out of that butt of yours. We have a double murder and need you and Sherlock on the scene. I already contacted him, and he's on his way over there."  
Heart pounding, "Give me the address, and I'm out of here," throwing on my coat.

* * *

There he is, all six foot and more of him.

My instinct is to grab him and throw him on the ground, kissing him as he falls.  
"Hey there, good to see you again," feeling every bit the teenage knucklehead, as nonchalant as I can be.  
"Coffee at Speedys after," smirking at my fumbling, and kneels down to inspect the two bodies entangled in rope and blood.

* * *

Sherlock is his usual brilliant, caustic self while telling all us 'idiots' what happened at this murder scene and leaves abruptly.  
I have to stay to wrap things up but so anxious that Sherlock won't wait for me that one of my boys says, "Lestrade, right now you're more hindering us than helping. Why not get out and let us finish this job?"  
I almost run out the door, restraining myself just long enough to sign off on the paperwork.  
Tomorrow's another day to do the cleanup.

* * *

To my relief there he is, slouched in a chair, facing the door.  
I motion to the waitress for a cup and sit down.  
"That was good work. You spotted things I--."  
"Are you evading the question?"  
"What question are you talking about?"  
Taking off his gloves and dropping them rather hard on the table his lips press together and his eyes pierce me.  
" What is your intent?"  
"Well, Sherlock--," my hand reaches for one of his gloves, feels the smooth leather of them.  
Lifting himself off the seat, "Goodbye Greg," and moves away from the table.  
Taking a piece of his coat in my hand, holding him back, I stop him, "Don't, don't walk away," and I stand next to him, reach up and with one hand pull his face to mine and kiss his lips.  
I feel his hand reach to my cheek, " It's a commitment you crave?"  
"With you, yes. And you?"  
"It's never been, John Watson. It's always been you."

* * *


End file.
